


chubby Bucky and chubby Steve go to a feast on Asgard and get chubbier

by chunkybarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Weight Gain, cheeky asgardian architecture, chubby bucky, chubby steve, how do u remember CA:TWS because I remember buck n Steve living happily ever after, please dont expect any of this to make sense, unrealistic wg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 16:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18594955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chunkybarnes/pseuds/chunkybarnes
Summary: What's on the can folx!





	chubby Bucky and chubby Steve go to a feast on Asgard and get chubbier

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for 20 days meme... guess who's still plugging away at the prompts??

There's a room in Thor's castle with a feasting table that never empties, created by a magician many Midgard centuries ago, intended for use by Asgardian warriors after battle. The food, modelled after the magician's mother's home cooking, is some of the best Thor has tasted, except for maybe the roast that Jane makes when he resides with her. It is meant to restore a warrior's energy, so it's filled with juicy meats of every variety, baked casseroles full of starchy goodness and lusciously decadent sweets - cakes and puddings and some creations the Midgardians are yet to discover (they did well by finding Nutella so quickly though).

 

Thor's heard tale of Midgardians who have been brought to Asgard and accidentally stumbled upon this room. The food is not meant for mortal consumption, but the mortals do not seem to be able to stop themselves from eating and eating and eating, even when their guts have distended past the point of reasonable Midgardian (and Asgardian, for that matter) logic. Thor has seen many mortals in the infirmary who've passed out before they are able to stop eating. Which is why Thor is concerned that the great Captain and his faithful Soldier have not returned after Thor sent them to the lavatory a fair amount of time ago.

 

The reason so many mortals stumble upon the room is that (in a very poor design choice) it's right next to the closest bathroom of the main dining hall. In all fairness, the tenth door down on the right is sometimes actually the eleventh, because one of the doors can be quite temperamental and camouflages itself into a tapestry sometimes. So. Thor's a little worried. But then the Man of Iron challenges Thor to an ale drinking contest and the concern falls to the back of his mind. The Captain and the Soldier are more than capable of taking care of themselves.

 

■

 

Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky were going to go to the bathroom, they swear, but a breeze that seemingly came from nowhere wafted the scent of the extravagantly laden table to them, and their stomachs let out audible growls and who are they to deny their bodies what they want?

 

Since Bucky's return over a year ago, they had decided they'd been through quite enough and announced their retirement from the hero business in order to lead their lives as they pleased. Or as their stomaches pleased.

 

Now that Steve wasn't concerned about being called to duty, he had time to explore the marvelous food offered by the 21st century. There were cooking classes, many more visits to bakeries than was healthy, even for super soldiers, restaurants, drive throughs, buffets - you name it, Bucky and Steve had eaten it or cooked it. They'd even started an anonymous blog definitively rating every eatery in New York (well that was the aim. They estimated they'd done at least 60% over the last twelve months, and wanted to ramp it up to three a day instead of two, but that's a matter to be discussed another time).

 

Even a super soldier's metabolism had its limits, and they'd both stacked on some considerable poundage. Nowadays they sported big, beefy biceps and fleshy pecs, resting over voluptuous guts that reached midway down their chunky thighs when sitting, all topped off with delicious double (or triple when they looked down) chins that they loved to suck marks into.

 

At first all the food they were consuming had been arduous, not intentionally trying to overload their metabolisms, just trying to eat as much delicious food as they could, but eventually they found their appetites growing, sometimes faster than their waistlines.

 

Sometimes, on really hungry days, they would call ahead a buffet restaurant and buy out the place for the night, just the two of them, and work their way through more food than conceivable to the average person, until they had to pop the button on their previously loose jeans, or undo the string from their sweatpants, and can't move for at least another hour, shamelessly hitching up their shirts and massaging their swollen bellies while the staff cleared their stack of empty dishes and pretended not to be mildly turned on by the blissful, satisfied grins on their faces and the small noises emitted from their overworked stomaches and mouths.

 

They kept a steady supply of snacks at home too, in case of cravings, because for Steve and Bucky, what the stomach wanted, the stomach got. And right now, their stomaches wanted a taste of that overflowing table. "Hey, Stevie," Bucky began, smile wolfishly wide "bet we can't finish this whole table." "Yeah? I think we could. I'm not that full from dinner." It's a lie, he's definitely nearing his capacity, but there's no way he's gonna let Bucky out-eat him.

 

So they wedge themselves into two of the grand chairs surrounding the table. There's no plate but there are carving forks and knives and cake servers for some of the dishes, and everyone knows that you eat faster with your hands anyway.

 

Bucky gets the ball rolling by pulling close some form of roasted bird and ripping off the legs. He takes one in each hand and alternates bites. The meat is cooked to perfection, skin brown and crispy, and Bucky can't help but moan. In less that a few minutes he's polished them off, the bones spit-shiny. He quickly moves to the rest of the bird, first popping the wings in his mouth and sucking them dry, the using a carving knife to cut large slices from the breast. He rolls the slices and stuffs them with what appears to be mashed potato mixed with an extraordinary amount of gravy, shoving as much in and around his mouth as possible. Soon the bird is reduced to a carcass, and he's picking off the last morsels he can find and stuffing them in his gullet.

 

After this he grabs the nearest dish and pulls it in front of him , barely giving himself time to identify the dish (it reminds him of the sweet curries from the Indian restaurant near his and Steve's apartment) before he's chugging it down, hardly chewing the tender meat as it slides in the thick sauce down his throat. He has to pause here to let out all the air he swallowed in a wet belch, thumping his stomach to get it all out. He peeks to his right, and sees that Steve is on to his third dish. Which will. Not. Do. Bucky tucks in with renewed vigour, entering almost a trance-like state. It helps that the food is just so delicious and he still seems to be so hungry, no matter the size of the stack of plates and bowls to his left.

 

When he comes to his senses about 6 dishes later, the table seems just as full as when they walked in here, irrespective of the gross amount of food he and steve have consumed. Furthermore, his gut has definitely crept forward a few inches along his thighs, and it lets out a grumble as he kneads the sides. He can't tell if it's a grumble of protest or encouragement, because while he can feel the slight discomfort of the stuffed mound, he still feels inexplicably hungry whenever he so much as glances at he food in front of him.

 

From the confused expression on Steve's face as he licks the remnants of a pie crust from his right hand and cradles his belly in the left, he feels the same. He's wheezing in a way he hasn't since his days before Dr Erskine's serum, lungs struggling under the weight of his impressive gut.

 

"Can't keep up, old man?" Bucky teases. "Ah well, more for me!"

 

Steve pauses to catch his breath before responding. "You wish, Buck."

 

At least that's what Bucky thinks he says. He can't be certain because Steve's plunged literally face first into another dessert, forgoing whatever sliver of social grace he was clinging to before. He too, dives back in to his task, only vaguely aware of his surroundings, like when he has to spread his thighs to let his stomach have more room, or when impossibly, his drooping gut actually touches the chair between his parted thighs.

 

The next thing that Bucky knows outside of the most beautiful flavours and textures he's ever tasted, is Thor's booming voice from the doorway. He blinks back into reality and is pleased to see that the table is almost depleted. He tries to smile, but finds his jaw is too exhausted. "Odin's beard!" Thor exclaims "I have never seen this table anything less then full! I applaud your appetite, Warriors!" Bucky groans from his seat, leaning back as far as the chair allows to make room for his stomach, which is still brushing the seat of the chair, yet managing to push his pecs up at the same time, an impressively hard, round curve. His sides, however, have fallen prey to the arms of the chair, spilling out under and over the polished bit of wood.

 

Now that he's not preoccupied by the food, he feels the discomfort of the pressure, both from inside his stomach and as the chair digs into his fleshy sides. He makes to get up, but finds himself struggling immensely, trapped by the gross volume of food he's stuffed himself with, and the constricting chair. With a great deal of manhandling, he manages to fit his food stained hands around his girth and heave himself up, panting under the effort of supporting his sheer mass.

 

Steve has fared worse, having to enlist the help of Thor to free himself from his wooden confines. The compression is too much on Steve's swollen gut, and he lets out a resonant belch, followed by a moan of discomfort as his overloaded stomach jostles. It's a slow trek back to their room, food drunk and weighed down, cupping their sensitive bellies to ease the weight on their backs, stopping to belch and moan and pant when the urge strikes.

 

Somehow, without him noticing, Bucky's trouser button has popped clean off, the two scraps of fabric that were once joined forced apart by his girth. His stretched out polo shirt has wrinkled up above his belly, a crude mockery of the crop tops which seem to be fashionable with young people today.

 

They help each other undress, taking turns lying on the ginormous bed whilst the other coaxes off skin tight pants. Their threadbare shirts are an easy fix, ripped off without a second thought.

 

When they're fully naked, Steve, who definitely ate way more than Bucky, flops heavily on his side of the bed, groaning in unison with the springs as his tight stomach jostles painfully. Seeing Steve's over-satisfied body, combined with the sheer volume of food they consumed during the night gets Bucky going, always does. He feels his dick growing hard, prevented from getting fully erect due to the weight of his hanging gut.

 

He's discovered a method, for nights like this, where he's passed the point of too full, tired and hurting and hard. He maneuvers himself onto the empty space next to Steve and takes a second to appreciate the grandeur of Thor's place, because the chances of them fitting on their bed at home tonight are slim to none, before rolling onto his left side to face his lover.

 

"Sweetheart," he breathes "you look so hot right now."

 

"Urrrrrp." Steve says. "Yeah? I ate so much tonight," hiccup, "that get you going?"

 

"You know it does." And it really is a testament to how often they do this, because without Bucky asking, Steve's already moving his arms further down from where they where rubbing the crest of his belly to the vast underside of it, heaving it out of the way to grant Bucky access to his cock, which is perking up in interest. Soon, Bucky's coaxed him to full hardness, flesh hand jacking the velvety skin, bouncing off the excess fat that surrounds Steve's hips and thighs. His own dick begging for attention. In practiced thrusts, he chases friction against his own gut. It gets him off like nothing else, feeling how hard and stretched out his stomach is, protected by a soft, soft layer of fat, feeling how big they've made themselves.

 

The room is quiet, save for their panting and the sounds of their digestive systems going into overdrive. Bucky lightly runs the tip of his thumbnail under Steve's head, then passes the fleshy pad of it over Steve's slit. Steve cries out and spills over Bucky's hand. Bucky is... So full. But there's something about the taste of Steve which he could never pass up, musky and slightly tangy, not altogether pleasant, but the one physical thing that wasn't affected by the serum. Call him sentimental, but he brings his come-covered fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean, releasing onto his own belly as he does so.

 

He rolls onto his back again and follows Steve's example, running his fingers up and down his sides, applying pressure to his especially sore spots to relieve some pressure. He drifts into a peaceful sleep and resolves to join Steve on more trips to Asgard, because this, lying next to the love of his life, happy and satisfied and fat, is the best feeling in the world.


End file.
